


in your bright blue eyes

by openended



Category: Private Practice
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Coping, Drug Addiction, Drunk Sex, F/F, Female Friendship, Friendship, Promises, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-29
Updated: 2013-01-29
Packaged: 2017-11-27 09:25:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/660360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/openended/pseuds/openended
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I should get clean."  (they've run through this circus before; one day she hopes it'll stick)</p>
            </blockquote>





	in your bright blue eyes

**Author's Note:**

> porn battle prompts: drugs, recovery, friendship, secret, sisters, ocean, wine

The first she hears of Amelia’s problem, it starts out a hushed affair. It’s a universal impossibility for the Shepherds to do anything quietly, so she knows something big is going on when they all tread carefully around Amelia that Christmas.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Amelia declares, ignoring that they’re in mixed company that spans three generations, “I ODed. Can we all stop acting like I’m gonna break if you ask me to dry the dishes?” She turns on her heel and walks out.

Addison sips at her wine. She shoots a glance at Derek, a glance that says _we’ll talk about this, about you not telling me that that my sister-in-law overdosed, later_ , and smoothly stands to go help Amelia with the very dishes that need drying. “You in a program?” She asks, taking the towel Amelia shoves at her, still too angry about her family to be polite to houseguests.

Amelia nods. “Yeah.” Her voice is hoarse, more than normal, and Addison wonders what the story is behind that. “Rehab for thirty days, and now I have a sponsor.” She rolls her eyes, as if it’s a big joke and waste of time, though she is trying. She’s mostly trying for her family though, and she knows that’s not the way to do it. She thinks that if she gets clean for them, maybe the desire to stay sober for herself will fall in line later. Delusions aren’t all bad.

“If you ever need help,” Addison says, “I won’t tell Derek.” She knows how addiction works; her family’s drug of choice is alcohol. Sobriety never sticks if you don’t want it to. 

Amelia stops, gripping the china plate in both hands so hard her knuckles turn white. “You’d lie for me?” Addison hasn’t been around that long, only a few years, and Amelia can count the times they’ve been in the same room on both hands. Her own sisters would run and tell her mother the moment she even mentioned taking anything stronger than ibuprofen.

“Yeah,” she says. She was hesitant a few seconds ago, when the offer first slipped out of her mouth. But the desperation in Amelia’s eyes, looking for someone she trusts who won’t turn around and immediately tell her family if something should go wrong again, convinces her that this is the right thing to do.

Amelia smiles and focuses on drying the plates. Maybe if she rubs the towel hard enough, the tears won’t fall.

* * *

The whole thing is a giant fucking mess.

Amelia’s high out of her skull on god knows what and Addison’s halfway through her second bottle of wine; she long gave up on the glass. An important patient died and Derek just left and residency is hell and there was an abortion she’s pointedly not talking about, and they’re coping. Badly, and they should both know better, but they tell themselves that it isn’t not quite _as_ bad because they’re coping badly _together_.

It’s around midnight when they kiss. The kiss is desperate, trying to feel something through the haze of their screwed up lives and the chemicals they’ve flooded into their bodies. Amelia tugs Addison’s shirt over her head and tosses it backward to land on top of a wedding picture on the mantle. Addison’s eyes glaze over as Amelia’s tongue circles a nipple and thinks that whatever she remembers from that night with Naomi sophomore year has nothing, not a damn thing, on what’s happening now.

For all that everything else goes out the window when she’s high, Amelia’s concentration and focus is crystal clear. She brings Addison to orgasm three times before realizing that she’s still wearing her own pants. Addison pulls herself out of a haze of sex and alcohol enough to tug Amelia toward the stairs, insisting that the bed is far better than the couch and living room floor, and demand that the pants be gone by the time they get there.

Amelia smirks and complies.

Morning comes with a headache for both of them. Addison braves the vertigo to find them water and Tylenol and crawls back into bed without even bothering with a robe. Amelia curls into her, suddenly needing protection from world with what she’s about to say.

“I should get clean,” Amelia whispers. She’s not talking about a shower, though that might be a good idea too.

Addison kisses her forehead. “Probably.”

* * *

Addison knows that Amelia’s getting high before anyone else does, except maybe Charlotte. She’s been through this carnival more than once since that offer in Carolyn Shepherd’s kitchen and pulled Amelia out each time without anyone else being the wiser. She considers it a personal point of pride that Amelia once went through detox while she was staying with her and Derek, and Derek never even noticed.

But this is different. Amelia doesn’t come to her for help this time. Addison waits, keeps expecting Amelia to slink into her office or bedroom, sheepish and embarrassed that this has happened yet again, keeps expecting to reassure her that it’s okay, that sobriety is hard and a lot of work. But Amelia never comes. There’s a man this time and Addison wants him far away from Amelia, but she can’t step in without Amelia’s defenses locking into place. She’s mean when she’s in between highs.

She stops waiting, cannot watch Amelia tear herself apart any longer, and holds an intervention. It fails, miserably, and only pushes Amelia farther away, but not before she watches Amelia snort a line of oxy off the waiting room coffee table. That’s an image she wishes had remained in her imagination. Still, she doesn’t call Derek, not even when the watch gets involved. Amelia raises a defiant eyebrow as she backs into the elevator, as if triple dog daring Addison to make that phone call, to be one more person who lets her down. She doesn’t. She made a promise.

But the boyfriend dies with Amelia sleeping next to him, and Addison finally gets that phone call. 

“You’re gonna be okay,” she whispers, hugging Amelia in the rehab reception area. She never wants to let go.

Amelia sniffs and memorizes the feel of Addison’s arms, the scent of her shampoo. It’ll be a while before she’s hugged again by someone who means it so much. “I mean it this time,” she whispers back.

“I know.”

* * *

The wake is over and Henry’s asleep and Jake’s gone home. Amelia finally gets off the phone with Derek – she doesn’t want to talk to him right now, but she supposes that she should at least call and say that she’s sorry his best friend died – and finds Addison out on the deck, baby monitor by her side and glass of water in her hand. She would’ve expected wine. Maybe they both have their vices they need to quit; Amelia’s was just louder.

She sits down next to Addison and looks out at the night sky over the water. “So, Mark died.”

Addison nods and exhales a shaky, traumatized breath. It’s been a rough week. “Mark died.” She turns to Amelia, backlit from the glow of Addison’s living room inside. “You gonna get high?” She’s too drained to put it politely, if there even is a polite way.

Amelia thinks on this for a moment. To anyone else, she’d answer immediately. But Addison deserves to know the reality, that she’d hesitate. “No,” she says, and it’s the truth.


End file.
